Funny Romance Business Woman of the Year
by JusticiaBee
Summary: 5 years from now, Betty and Gio meet again...


FUNNY ROMANCE...BUSINESS WOMAN OF THE YEAR – AND THEN SOME SPARKLERS

_This is a jump 5 years into the future – a what if Betty& Gio really do split up in 2008 and don't meet till 2013-story. Sure hope we won't have to wait that long to see more Gio, but with a happy ending, even I could survive some seasons of nonsense and unwanted (and thus doomed) Love Interests for Betty. I could even survive some seasons of a Detty-marriage – as long as I knew the angles were set on making things right later. Follow along the paths of my imagination, ladies… (this is a re edited version of the fic that has been out on the Sandwich-guy forum)._

_Plus – I'd like to mention that I have of course stolen the characters from the UB show – every resemblance to the UB characters is intended. ABC still owns the characters,though, I don't. I have tried to capture their identities, I have tried to be true to how they appear on the show – if some feel I have failed, I am sorry. This is how I see them – a few years into the future. Maybe._

"Ladies and gentlemen! Business woman of the year, 2013; former president and CEO of the Meade Publications, founder of the lifestyle corporation including bestselling lifestyle magazine this year, Just Be – I give to you Ms Betty Suarez!"

Betty entered the podium, the audience was applauding. She was practically walking on clouds, her heart beating a little faster than usual. Her big, white smile showed how happy she was, and was as much a Betty trademark as her glasses. Today she wore them in purple, matching the purple tight, just above the knee skirt and short jacket following her every curve that her close friend, Marc Jacobs had designed for her. He had taught her nothing was ever totally wrong in fashion – but then he was the guy who made the concept grunge edible as haute couture. She had taught him petite, curved, full bosomed women needed cool designs and were willing to pay for them. It was a friendship made in heaven. The Betty-line they had designed together for H&M was a screaming success.

"Erhm, thank you! "Betty said, blushing as she accepted the trophy. It was heavier than expected – and a lot tackier.

"This was a total surprise, to tell you the truth, actually, I felt a winner just being nominated. Actually, I never thought I would be standing here today, having beaten all these awesome, competent, successful women. Girls, you are every time as much a winner as I am – honest!"

The big smile showed again – and the cameras went off in a symphony of flashes.

"The thank you's… I must thank all the lovely and loyal people I have worked with the past few tears, both at Meade and at Just Be. You're great. Special thanks to my father who always believed in me and supported me – Papi, you always saw me as special, to my caring sister Hilda, my nephew and PA, Justin, my lovely friend Christina who creates even more lovely clothes in London, and my mentor throughout the years, Claire Meade – you own a big part of this!"

Betty lifted the glass monster.

"And," her voice warmed, "I wouldn't have here without you, Daniel. You're still my best friend. If you're watching…." She blew a kiss towards the chain of cameras. Just as they thought she was through, she drew closer to the microphone, smiling wryly, "Almost forgot. Here's a thanks to an old friend who told me to follow my dreams and just be. I did. Look where it brought me!"

The journalists circled her as she left the podium. There was a time when she had panicked meeting a persistent, rude, elbowing pack like this, but she'd learned how to deal and cope with them. They came with the package. She smiled, posed – and she was asked about Daniel. She gave them her "no comment!" as if that stopped them.

"Ms Suarez…"

That was her pet among the journalists, dear Suzuki St.Pierre. "You have introduced a sort of anti glamour that has become incredibly hot among young executive women, we have even seen supermodels wearing your rainbow glasses, did you ever see this happen to you – say 5 years back?"

"I once believed Cavalli was a pasta brand," Betty confessed giggling. "And I was sure Jimmy Choo starred in martial arts movies, despite everything my nephew Justin tried to tell me…"

"I loooove, your Jimmy Choos, by the way."

Suzuki practically drooled over her shoes. The camera zoomed in her green 11 cm heels with purple polka dots.

"Thank you," Betty smiled. "Jimmy dear designed them for me – I just helped with the colors."

"It's rumored you'll take over "The Apprentice" next season, replacing Donald Trump…"

"That's just what it is," Betty broke him off, "a rumor. Do I look like a girl who would kick Donald Trump off the screen?"

She escaped the reporters, knowing she had given them more than enough. Next was the party – but she hadn't expected to win, and hadn't bothered accepting the tickets she was entitled to. They had watched her win on HD. She'd throw them a decent party soon. With any luck she could sneak off early. No matter how successful she was, she never got used to the socializing of the business world. She still felt a duckling among swans – but she knew she was competent.

Betty was in luck – she quietly left the celebrations a few hours later. The limo brought her to her hotel. The event was held in LA this year. She never got used to LA – everything looked faux. She probably still was Betty from NY. Nothing could ever change that.

She carried the crystal trophy as a teddy bear. She smiled remembering how she and Gio were expelled from her old high school, chaperoning a school dance. Just because she so badly wanted to hold her Good Citizen Award she'd earned and returned years back. No way she was returning this one!

As the elevator started climbing she looked at the crystal monster.

"Hey, do you have a Mexican accent – or is that just another myth?" she asked.

She'd barely kicked off her shoes when there was a knock on her door, and a sweet kid in the hotel's uniform brought her a bunch of roses of all possible colors. There were different reds, pink, white, apricot, champagne, purple – almost black roses, and a couple of sparklers tied in with them.

Betty couldn't help giggle. There followed no card, however. A bouquet of first class roses – and sparklers!

It just couldn't be!

But her heart grew a little warmer, her blood pulsated a little faster and she felt her cheeks flush as she actually did consider the possibility.

Sense took over where her heart went wild: It couldn't be!

She found an empty vase and filled it with water. The rainbow themed roses looked awesome next to the bed. Daniel's extravagant bouquet of long stemmed red roses just had to be moved to somewhere they couldn't steal attention. The marble bathroom needed a touch of color.

Daniel was still in France – school holiday lasted till September, and he wanted to spend as much time with Junior as possible. The villa on the Cote d'Azur was his second home – and she thought he actually liked it better there than in NY. He was happier there, painting, sailing and just being Daniel, no Mr. Meade. He had been confident she'd win. They'd talked in the morning. She could phone him now – but she just didn't want to share this moment with him.

The roses intrigued her. They spoke, but she wasn't sure she understood their language.

She'd googled him yesterday eve. Like a lovesick school girl she'd punched his name "giovanni rossi" – and there had been some 70000 hits. The most recent telling he was entertaining a bunch of glamorous friends at his Hampton house – among those, British TV-cook Jamie Oliver, whom she understood was a close mate, and Jamie's wife, Jules, plus the infamous Canadian Italian model Laura. She apparently had no surname and very little decency paired with minimal confection (though couture), a set of unbelievably long legs and a clingy personality. In the photos following she wrapped her long, slim, tanned limbs around Gio – and the moron grinned as he'd just won the lottery. Not that he needed to win any lottery. He'd achieved everything in his 5 year plan – and more. His deli chain – once "Gio's deli", now "Sandwich Guy", gave McDonald's competition in the US. He was big in Australia and Italy – expanding to the rest of Europe. And he still had the hideous pickle logo! The Guy from the neighborhood had become an international tycoon.

She hadn't seen him – as in seen him, in 5 years. She avoided thinking of that last time. But she had followed his success in the media, and she had celebrated every one of his achievements. Sans the achievements in the world of models and long legged actresses, she had to be honest and confess he hadn't impressed her much in that sense. When did he develop that taste for women 30 cm longer than himself? What would Freud have made out of that?

Did he ever google her?

Get a grasp on yourself, girl! Betty told herself. It's no use in reminiscing. The possibility came and went. The past was gone. Parts of it, including Gio, were bittersweet and could give material to sappy stories and hot fantasies. Betty had long ago realized she was no writer – she was a doer. Being a great daydreamer didn't necessarily make you a great author. When she started making her dreams real by doing, not writing, she understood and captured her real talent.

Betty of the past was a different Betty to this one, the Businesswoman of the year, 2013. Or was she really?

The roses caught her eyes. The mere sight encouraged the tiniest sprinkle of hope.

Her golden mobile rang. She didn't recognize the number, but only an exclusive handful knew her number. Could be Christina had lost her mobile – again. It would be the 5th in 3 weeks.

"It's me," she answered. Whoever rang should know who she was.

"You're about to hear me congratulating you," a low, hoarse voice she'd recognize anywhere – anytime, melted into her ear.

"Urhm, er, thanks!" the confident business woman stuttered. She pulled herself together. "Gio – eh – what a surprise! Imagine you calling! After not a single word, or a text message or a postcard or an email in 5 years! I'm touched here, and honored!"

"I've waited for that special occasion," he laughed, apparently not at all ashamed.

Why did that laughter still get to her?

"…of which you've lately had a few," he followed up.

Hah! He did google her!

Betty didn't go where he wanted her to. Let him brew! Hilda had taught her something after all.

"Did you get my roses?"

She smiled and was glad he didn't see her. Gio actually had sent the roses. She wanted to dance, but stayed dignified. She only wriggled her toes a little.

"They're – unique," she said.

"They should be! They reminded me of you. I kissed every one of them before the florist tied them up…"

The floor was spinning. Was this an earth quake? Did they get them in LA? She had breathing problems. No earth quake, she decided; a dizzy spell – probably caused by low blood sugar, nothing a can of ice cream couldn't fix. Or some TLC. Sweet kisses. Hot loving…

Embrace yourself, gal!

"You what?" she asked and wished she didn't have to pull her breath so heavily before asking: "You're here?"

Once more that low laughter. Her toes curled. Gawd – she hadn't remembered laughter could be sexy.

"…you touched them with your lips yet, Betty? I'd sure like to think you did…"

Gio said her name in a sensual way that made her helpless. He turned the t-s into honeysweet d-s on his lips, the very same lips that had kissed every one of her roses. She fought temptation and stayed clear of the bouquet. For now, anyway.

"Want to bring the roses and the fireworks and take the lift to the roof, Betty?"

"For what?" she asked, fooling herself. She needed no reason other than he was there! She'd go there for any reason he came up with and pretend he had talked her into dodging a busy schedule.

"A simple celebration for a simple girl from the block," he said, no trace of irony.

Betty hesitated. Her heart beat so loudly it could have accompanied any band on a Caribbean cruise ship.

"Say yes," he said.

Had she ever heard that before? She hadn't become Business woman of the year by hesitating and saying no. She'd taken calculated risks. She had jumped. She had conquered.

"Yes," she said. "I'll come!"

Hilda would have told her to put on something foxy and sexy and seducing – as if Betty owned anything in that league. As if it would matter! She couldn't compete with leggy Laura anyway. She stepped into her shoes, grabbed the bouquet – he'd told her to bring the roses and the fireworks, right? – left the suite and took the elevator to the hotel roof, thinking security was insanely slack. She'd have to make a notice about this to the manager. Any slightly twisted guest could gain entrance to the roof and dive into the busy streets 25 floors below.

How had Gio gotten hold of her phone number? Her immediate suspectee was Justin, who'd always liked Gio, and who had commented that she shouldn't lock herself up and work herself into an early grave just because she couldn't save her marriage. Justin had mentioned Gio not long ago – and she could swear she wasn't the one who brought up his name. It had to be Justin. Or Hilda – the born romantic, who felt everybody should be as happy as she was – and who had already tried to pair her up with her hot husband's hot mates. Even if Betty had told her she wasn't really into hockey players. Couldn't be Papi giving her number to anyone – he considered Daniel the son he never got and still thought he could bring them back together.

She stepped into the damp California night. The first minute she couldn't see much – not even him. He sure hadn't indulged in lights for this celebration. Maybe he hadn't turned up after all? Maybe he had fooled her? But why would he do that?

"Gio?"

Then she spotted him, and she was drawn to him, like moths to the fire.

Blue jeans, tight black tee, brown leather jacket. She had to blink twice when realizing it was the same leather jacket he'd worn to the school dance years back, the very special night he made his way into her heart. Betty's throat narrowed, but she didn't slow her pace.

Gio opened his arms, and she walked straight into his warm embrace.

"Betty," he said and kissed her cheeks, then held her on arm's length. "Come on – you look great! I'm glad you've kept the glasses."

"You look great too," she admitted, unable to curl her lips and tongue around his name. Not face to face. That would be too – intimate. "You actually came here!"

She almost asked him where he'd parked Laura, but had just enough grace to leave it be.

"Hey, I knew you'd win!" he said with a confident grin. "And I figured you'd like to celebrate with the guy who inspired you to enter the business world."

"You actually weren't the one …"

"You did break into my deli," he reminded her and pulled her back into that comfy embrace. "I reckon' that's when it started."

"And if I hadn't won?"

"Come on – that wasn't ever an option! You have achieved so much…"

"Ditto," she responded and took a step back. She needed some space, some air. "Are we comparing notes here? Is this a contest to you? Gio and Betty from the block: The business hits. The dynamic duo, huh? Who is the best of us?"

"You know I'd never do that," he said, sounding disappointed. "I'm not a very competitive guy."

She smiled. Yeah! And the Pope wasn't Catholic. Gio hadn't changed much. Matured a bit, of course. His face had sharpened, he'd grown some more muscles, the trunk felt harder, his upper arms threatened the seams of the leather jacket, and he'd obviously gotten attached to that moustache and the Johnny Depp beard. She hadn't quite decided what she thought of all the facial hair.

"I've organized a picnic," Gio said, letting go of her for a few seconds – and Betty instantly felt cold, then he was grabbing her by the elbow. He took her to the centre of the roof, where painted circles indicated that helicopters owned by celebrity guests could land. In the very middle he'd spread out a picnic rug.

"I wasn't allowed to lit candles here," he explained, "but I brought a torch!"

He brought a tiny torch, more a keychain really, out of his pocket and lit it. It didn't make much of a change. Betty was still impressed.

"Dig in," he said.

The catering was all Sandwich Guy, except the sparkling wine.

"Italian?" she asked as he stated the fact to her.

"Uh-hum," he said with a grin, "couldn't impress you with French bubbles, could I?"

An unasked question was floating in the air. Betty unwrapped the sandwich and smelled it. He'd gift wrapped it – like the one he gave her as a peace offering when they really didn't know each other yet.

"Turkey, sundried tomatoes on a baguette," he said with the one and only Gio-grin. "Three sundried tomatoes, no less. Betty wants sundried tomatoes, Betty is getting sundried tomatoes. Wouldn't want you to think I'm an old scrooge!"

She had a mouthful – and grinned.

"Perfect," she complimented him.

"Jamie says I should put it on the Sandwich Guy menu," he said. "Jamie. English cook. I tried your sandwich on him. He loved it."

"And you still don't?"

"To me it's an emotional thing, Betty. It isn't all about taste, you know. But Jamie might be on to something. The Betty – what do you think?"

She gave it a thought.

"Actually, Gio, I'm not sure I'm ready for being introduced on the Sandwich Guy menu," she said. She could have knocked herself dead for blushing. With some luck he didn't notice – unless she was glowing in the dark, which wasn't impossible!

"I made one on your wedding day," he confessed, looking straight into her eyes. "I even ate it. That day it didn't taste like nothing. God, Betty, you looked beautiful! That dress…"

"…was Christina's design," Betty said and remembered how happy she had been – and how beautiful she'd felt. She hadn't thought of Gio that day. Not at all.

He didn't really hear her.

"…I ruined my laptop throwing it to the floor when I saw the first photos of you and Daniel, "he said – not even a hint of a joke in his voice.

"Sorry – I think," Betty breathed, confused. "Why would it bother you? By then we hadn't talked in like – 2 years. It was a mutual decision…"

"Why would it bother me, Betty?" The low intense voice hit her heart. He snapped out of the mood, saying with a twisted smile: "Bet Egg salad-Henry sent you a wedding card!"

"A wedding balloon," Betty corrected. "And it was very sweet of him and Charlie and Nate…"

"So tell me, how is Daniel?" Gio asked. "Don't see him much in the media after he retired."

"He's fine. He's mostly staying in France," Betty said, clamming up.

"It's me, Betty," Gio quietly reminded her.

"The work and stress almost killed him," Betty said. "He doesn't much want to return to that. He doesn't want to get involved in business again. He doesn't need another heart surgery. Alexis and Willie are capable of running Mode and the rest of Meade Publications – it is a challenge, but they are two…"

"You did it alone," he said, impressed. Still no irony. No mocking.

"Only for a year," she minimized. "I had to. One day Daniel was well – the next he was in hospital. They told me he was minutes from dying…"

"You were Cinderella," Gio said in awe. "You had it all. What went wrong? Did Daniel fall back to old habits? Did he cheat on you, Betty?"

He clenched his fists.

Betty said a simple, "No."

Gio demanded a full explanation. Everything about him craved that.

"I had married my best friend. He still is, you know. Daniel will always have that special place in my heart. We failed when it came to romance, to being lovers…"

"I had a black and white cookie when I read about your divorce," he admitted with a grin. There was seriousness beneath the jokes. "Wanna have one?"

Betty accepted just to keep her hands occupied. They wanted to wander all over his toned, tempting body.

"You never married?"

"Nah," he said. "I wasn't lucky enough to meet the right girl."

"I'd say you've met a few!" Betty insisted.

His brows rose. "You've been stalking me?"

"I haven't been able to avoid all the glossy pics of Gio, the Sandwich Guy, with supermodels or actresses or bimbos on his arm…"

"You were jealous! Admit it!"

Betty had a bite of the cookie. She had been jealous. But she was far from admitting anything.

"I noticed you, again and again. Isn't that enough?"

"That's the Business woman of the year talking! You wanna dance, B?"

He jumped to his feet and held his hand out for her to grab it. Betty hesitated only for a second.

"Music?" she asked.

"You'll have to imagine it," he whispered into her ear as he tucked her close.

Betty closed her eyes and imagined the song he'd chosen for their dance in the school gym. She didn't step on his toes once. They were so good together!

"Which song?" he asked.

"In love with a friend," she whispered. "You too?"

"Nope," he said. "I imagined Unbreak my heart!"

His face came closer. All she could see was his dark eyes. She felt his breath – smelling of sundried tomatoes.

"Matter of fact, I met the perfect girl once, Betty", he said, his lips almost touching hers. "Only it turned out to be the wrong time."

She nodded. He described her life too.

"I also met the perfect guy," she said. "But I wasn't ready for the commitment he wanted. Not then."

"Do you think the time is right for us now, B?" Gio asked.

"I think it can be the perfect time, Gio," she said and didn't wait for him to kiss her.

She kissed him.

That sent sparkles through her. The kiss lasted forever, sweet, hot, tingling, and when it ended, she just wanted to kiss him more.

"Definitely the right time," he said with a broad smile. "You didn't even block my tongue, Suarez. Well, Businesswoman of the year, do you want to celebrate with fireworks?"

Betty could imagine various ways of celebrating, but wasn't willing to give him any ideas at this early stage. Hilda said a woman should be a little mysterious – as if Hilda had ever been a tad mysterious!

"Fireworks – yeah," she said.

"Come on!"

He waved the torch to the sky, next he practically shoveled the picnic gear to the side.

"Should we be littering?" Betty asked.

He pulled her to the side of the roof as she could hear a helicopter hovering over them. Her hair hid him from her as the chopper landed. When she had organized it into some kind of style, he was on one knee in front of her.

Betty blinked. She closed her eyes and opened them a couple of times, but that unbelievable image of him on his knees in front of her was still there.

"Yeah, I'm real," he said the fifth time she had closed her eyes and opened them. "I know it's hard to believe in perfection, but here I am. And I'm yours."

He had to yell because of the helicopter.

"That thing yours?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Thing is, Betty – I don't want to waste time here. Not anymore." He grabbed the bouquet she'd dropped by their feet. She opened her mouth to tell him she loved the bouquet, she hadn't dropped it because she wasn't grateful…

"Sparklers," he said. "I wasn't allowed real fireworks. The mayor said no. They're afraid they would cause fires. But this will do. Hold it."

She did.

Gio stroke a match to one of the hotel's matchboxes and lit the bunch of sparklers, one by one. The bouquet looked like it was on fire

They laughed like kids.

"I can't promise you fireworks every day," he said. "But real life ain't so bad."

"I don't need fireworks," Betty said as the sparklers died, one by one. "I don't need special effects. I just need the Guy."

"In which case," he shouted, "would you do me the honor and marrying me, Betty Suarez?"

"Yes," she yelled back. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Gio jumped to his feet. He kissed her. Frenched her – nothing less. And he brushed her into his arms and carried her to the helicopter, leaving her no other choice than climbing in. Smiling broadly he followed her.

As they took off from the hotel roof he presented her with a little box.

"We can do with some FX," he grinned and opened the dark red velvet lid.

"Wow!" Betty was lost for words.

Gio smiled with his entire face. He took the ring out of the box and slid it slowly to her finger. It was the exact size. Christina knew her best friend. He couldn't have wanted a better accomplice.

"Do you like it?"

Betty nodded. Her vision was blurred by those happy tears. Her finger had felt empty after she removed the wedding ring. Her heart had felt empty. But she hadn't imagined she would rush into a new relationship – so soon. She hadn't imagined Giovanni Rossi would whirl into her life in a private chopper, placing a giant, pink, heart shaped diamond on her finger.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked – promising herself she wouldn't be surprised by anything. He probably had a yacht harbored somewhere close. That would be neat. An engagement dinner on the deck of his yacht, the ocean winds whispering in her ears, music, champagne --oops, sparkling pink Italian wine, and his well developed talent for sweet talk would entertain her for hours, maybe even days…

"Airport," he said. "To my private jet. We have a short flight ahead, B."

She probably visualized a question mark.

"We have an appointment with Elvis – I hope," he said and grabbed one of her hands. "I am serious about marrying you, Betty. And I don't intend to waste any time. Not even a night. I want to marry you tonight, Betty."

"Tonight?"

She was annoyed with herself. She sounded like the echo in person.

"We're flying to Vegas," he said.

Silence.

"You in for that, B?"

He was rushing things. He had scared her off last time because he was rushing things, because he was impatient and wanted her too much. He was just as intense now, just as restless and impatient – but she had grown a lot since then. She knew who she was, what she wanted…

"You maybe want your father to walk you down the aisle," he said, defensive – and a bit disappointed. "You maybe want the big white dress and party and the whole family…"

Betty sighed. She kissed him to shut him up.

"I've had the white dress and the party and Papi walking me down the aisle," she whispered. "And that was no guarantee for happiness."

She held her hands around his cheeks, looked him into his eyes. They were flooding over. He wasn't such a tough guy after all. He was – her guy.

"It's more important to have the right groom," she smiled. "And I'm right this time."

Another kiss. A long lasting one. Breath taking. Sensitive. Soft. Seducing. Toe curling. A kiss that held a thousand promises.

"So – Vegas?" she asked as they climbed out of the helicopter.

Gio remembered her bouquet of many colors.

"Vegas…"

He held her hand as they were running away from the chopper. Finally they could speak in a normal voice.

"I can marry you in every town we pass on our way to NY," he said – and bore a face saying he meant it, "If you have anything in particular against Vegas. Or Elvis. There must be a James Dean impersonator who can marry us. Or Marilyn Monroe…"

"Elvis is fine," Betty sighed. "Vegas is fine."

She lifted her face to the sky and laughed.

"Life with you is never boring, is it?"

"Life with you can't be boring, Betty," Gio predicted. "The soon-to-be Mrs. Rossi."

Betty smiled.

She let him rush her into an engagement that lasted only a few hours, she let him fly her to a hasty wedding in Las Vegas, she let some wannabe Elvis marry, she didn't even scream for a decent wedding dress. But she'd never change her name. She hadn't done that for Daniel, she wouldn't do that for any man. Not even for Gio.

She would always be Betty Suarez.

No need to mention that now and spoil the atmosphere.

"I love you," she said softly. "Kiss me."

"I'm your slave," he said and followed her demand. "Your love slave," he mumbled as he came up for air.

Yeah, right, Betty thought.

She was all for equality. He'd find out in time. She could live with a love slave on hand till then.

The flight to Vegas was all too short.


End file.
